


Black and White

by Ladibard_Wordsmith28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Music, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladibard_Wordsmith28/pseuds/Ladibard_Wordsmith28
Summary: When Hermione Granger wrote, "Black and White" in her two-way journal, Severus Snape made her wait for the weekends to come to hear his answer.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	Black and White

Disclaimer: I don't own HP world, but all Au and Ocs are my babies.

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**Black and White**

Her heels clicked over the marble floor of the deserted Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. _Tap tap tap._ She tried hard to slow down even if her heart was beating, or better galloping like wild horses. Files held close to her chest, a smile plastered on her lips, not a hair out of place. She wore a moonlit silver button-down blouse and her forest green pencil skirt, below her pitch-black robe. She had a meeting today, a very important one that comprised of the staff of Hogwarts and the board of Governors and the educational ministry of affairs.

The press had been gossiping a lot these days, speculating about her private life, after Ginny Potter and Harry Potter welcomed their third child, and Ron and Lavender had announced they were indeed expecting their fourth baby. Their triplets Hugo, Rose, and Bill were had turned five, six months ago. But the brain of the golden trio chose to keep her private life just like that- private.

Instead of returning to her ministry designated penthouse, she would fly away to a cliff house, she had bought with the money the ministry of magic had gifted her along with the Order of Merlin, First Class for her role in defeating Voldemort. She had argued, "Unless the sky falls down, I prefer to be undisturbed during my weekends." They thought she lived with cats and her dusty books, listening to sleepy music, and she never felt like correcting them. After apparating into her penthouse, she had just dropped her files by the door, collecting her over-the-night bag, she had walked up to her freezer. Opening the door, she smiled to herself, there sat a black forest cake with cherry toppings. Gingerly bringing it out, she transferred it into a box, tying the bow with a flick of her wand, giving herself a moment to calm those crazy butterflies dancing at the pit of her stomach, she disappeared with a pop.

Apparating right into her secret house's backyard garden, she took in a deep breath. He had planted flowers in rows around the fences. Orchids, exotic varieties, tulips, roses, lilacs, dahlias, sunflowers- there were colours she loved the most. He had asked her many years ago, "Favorite colour?" Her mischievous reply was "everything other than black." Oh! How punctuated was her punishment for mocking his signature attire! He had, again and again, brought her close to the edge, only to deny her. Until she had screamed, "Black is my colour". Later on, while lazily writing her name over his heaving wet chest, she had managed to ask," Why to torture yourself along with me?" After brutally punishing her lips for her folly, he had gruffly whispered, "No you or me, remember it is us, we, and ours." She had pursed her lips in thought, debating whether to actually question his virility, and he had once again shown her how far his patience stretched.

Somedays he would just come to hold her in his arms and sit back on the couch, reading a book, propped on her knees, running his fingers through her thick mane. She would rest her temple right over his scars on his disfigured neck. She had made it a point to make him understand, his scars made him an honorable man, a survivor, a victor who stood through fire and rain and lived to tell a wonderful tale. That was the first time, he had actually shown her, how tender, soft and graceful a lover he could be, like a stealthy panther, he had preyed on her senses, etched his name over her flushed skin and whispered her name over her heart, surrendering himself totally into her welcoming embrace.

Each time some former student of Hogwarts, would recall, Severus Snape's lack of tolerance and patience, she had to bite the insides of her cheek to keep herself from blurting out, "Severus, is like an iceberg, you dunderhead!" The first time she had narrated him the whole thing, ending it with her precise thought, he had barked out laughing. She had loved watching him. How his cheek dimpled, how his skin crinkled around his eyes. His nose and teeth were not perfect. But it was their imperfectness that made her marvel his face the most. And she would never tell the world how his nose could smell her, even before he actually saw her. How it could nudge her to titillating confessions about her daily fantasies regarding him. His crooked teeth would leave behind jarred bite marks, his secret weakness to mark her as his own. She had dared again, "You know even if you hate him, you are so like Sirius..." he didn't allow her to finish that sentence.

Ever since she had understood life, she wanted to belong to it seamlessly. Instead, she had to struggle and prove herself worthy enough to belong. But when it came to him, they fit within each other, like a cap of a muggle ballpen, like a rubber glove, like a stocking, like a cover of lipstick, like a cork fitting snugly over a volatile potion or an expensive bottle of wine. The world knew him as a quiet man, who had nothing to share about himself. Of course, he didn't, because every weekend, she would make him talk endlessly. About everything under the sun and the moon. Today, the members attending the meeting did not see him as she did. There, sitting right across her, he had been stripping her thread by thread with his eyes. When he spoke, he just said phrases dotted with innuendos, which made her squirm on her seat. "I agree", "I intend to", "precisely my point", "Indeed". That man could speak the entire dictionary without even wasting his breath. Within a span of a small sentence or an inch-long paragraph perhaps. Seriously, it must have been torture for him to read her hideously long essays.

Those many years ago, when she had knocked at his office door, late into the night, she had just gone down to say her goodbyes. Instead, he had taught her yet another lesson in life. When it came to Severus Snape, you cannot look passed him. He is constant in your life, through his teachings, through his life, his principles, his research, his anonymous donations and if you are lucky, he will orbit you like a vigilant satellite. People would look up at her and say, "Hermione Granger is a lucky girl, the youngest minister of magic, the brightest witch of the age". She would just shake her head in disagreement. She was powerful because he held her through all those hours of crying, weeping, shivering thought the after-effects of Bellatrix's curses. She managed her office with an iron hand because she remembered, life was nothing less than a potions lab. And she had a prolific master to teach her ways to tackle the crisis.

Last weekend, he had brought her a grand piano. She never found her parents and the first thing she had told him about how she missed those piano lessons she had, sitting on her father's lap. It was the first time, she had discovered that the scowling youngest headmaster of Hogwarts, did have several hidden talents under his sleeves. He had made her sit in between his long legs and had guided her fingers over the black and white keys, one by one. Together they had created music that night. Copin had hugged Bach and Bach had left the floor with a whisper for Mozart to glide over until it was time for Beethoven to spread the magic of moonlight sonata through those glass windows. That night, he had made love to her by the blazing fireplace. Afterward, when she had crumbled like a handful of petals over his earthy expanse, he had continued playing Schubert's Serenade over her spine, humming along, engulfing her with music that came from his soul.

Like always, he had prepared the Monday breakfast, had left a jug of fresh flowers and a note," By what name should yesterday with remembered?" This was their own game of wordplay, give a name to every weekend and write about it in a two-way journal throughout the lonely weekdays they would spend apart. The world was not ready to see them together. Perhaps it would never be, who knows. She had written the words, "Black and White". He was yet to write back. Today was Friday, she did not press him to speak about it in front of others. She did not hunt for his attention, approval, or acknowledgment. She had gone about the day, like he had, methodically. Balancing the cake in one hand, she had opened the door with her key. He had the other. The house was dark. But she knew darkness did not really mean, he was not around.

The moment, she had closed the door, he had his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. He smelt of sandalwood, spearmint, and lemongrass. He was wet from his recent shower. Kissing the back of her ear and the curve of her neck, he took the time to relish her fragrance. Her eyes fluttered close at his ministrations. Looking over her heaving chest, he noticed the innocent white box with a black ribbon tie. He could smell chocolate. His husky voice rolled over her jawline," Are you apologizing for teasing me today with chocolate?" She failed to come up with an answer, for he was busy, squeezing her in hypotonic rhythm. Swaying her hips aligned to his, while he ran his tongue over her cold skin, warming them up gradually.

Peering at her reflection on the surface of the glass, he pleaded, "Look at me," she opened her eyes to see his reflected obsidian ones, softly looking back at her. His lips moved like a prayer soothing her raging desire, "I am darkness, you are luminance, but when we are together like this, I am speechless at the display of thousand shades of grey."


End file.
